


if you meet Milenko on the road, kill him

by oncewewerezombies



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Alternian Empire, Background Relationships, Biting, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Clothed Sex, Cult of the Mirthful Messiahs, Hero Worship, IN SPACE!, M/M, Pesterlog(s) (Homestuck), Semi-Public Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Subjuggulator Gamzee Makara, Subjuggulators, no buckets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21871729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: Gamzee spots one of his wigglerhood idols on the subjugglator flagship.Written for theBulges R Us server 'zine.
Relationships: Gamzee Makara/Marvus Xoloto
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	if you meet Milenko on the road, kill him

It's the culmination of prayer to be where the fuck you are, right the fuck now. You been weighed and found to be sufficient in the eyes of the Messiahs - or perhaps more motherfucking importantly, in the eyes of the elders of the Church. When you'd arrived to training in the shuttle from planetside to the stars, you'd been a weak and miserable thing, sopor-fed and rail-thin but they'd seen your fervour, they'd known you for what you was despite your mortal failings and the Church had sorted all your shit out. So here you stand, clean and sober, a dedicated soldier and working your way towards being a proper laughsassin with all your cohort. The shivering, sweating, screaming wretch of your arrival is dead in his tomb and generally you're happy to leave him there.

That don't mean that you're different all the fucking way though. You still like what you like, still got scriptures crammed hot and heavy up inside your pan. And you motherfucking know a motherfucker when you see them and you know Marvus god damn fucking Xoloto when you see him, that's for sure. His rap is old school but motherfucker, it sure is tight. He got rhythm and flow that you'd sacrifice to the Messiahs for, and he radiates in a way that draws both scumblood and faithful to him in waves. He's also got a set of tits that you'd be happy to bury your nug in all night long, fuck.

You want his attention but why the fuck would he want yours? You just kinda moon around and pretend like your pusher doesn't skip a beat when you see him in passing, that your groin don't tighten in a lustful spasm. It's not like you're the only fucking one, but you don't think that everyone knows what a star he was in his time before he joined the Fleet. He's not a professional tormentainer now, he doesn't give concerts no more. Sometime he preaches in chapel though, same as any older kin might if they felt the pull to prophesy and slam a lesson down on the faithful, and your ass always finds a seat near the front if you get even a whiff of the fact that he might be at the pulpit for a session. Just like watching him exhort the congregation to get rowdy, clapping, whooping, getting close to Messiahs and family both on the sweaty fever of real proper church. You hadn't known what you been missing, on your lonely beach. You hadn't known, and how could you have known? Now you soak it all up like a sponge, thirsty as fuck for righteous communion.

Giddy and high on stardust and holy fever, better than any pie you ever baked, you stagger from evening vespers with your pan buzzing with conviction, shocks from Marvus' preaching still running through your veins. World gonna end in flames and ash, hell motherfucking yeah. Faithful gonna be ushered by angels to their motherfucking rightful rewards. He'd controlled the crowd of whooping, hollering clowns like a beast master with his dearest pet roarbeasts, stirring them up with one hand, then bringing them down to bide time before again bringing them to a bright fever pitch. You're sticky with faygo baptismal spray and you feel cleansed with a new steadfast purpose and faith. Brother sure can preach! You press a fist to your mouth and try not to walk too unsteady on your fronds; easy to say, hard to do with your bulge feeling like it's an inch away from squirming right outta the sheath.

Time to get to your quarters and beat out a little bit of your frustration from your shameglobes, you guess. At least you ain't got no other plans now, just sleeping. And self abuse. It'll help with the sleeping at least.

Not for the faithful the bare unvarnished steel walls of salt-led shippery, the walls of carnival ships are painted and tapestried. Your kin glory in colour, in telling and retelling stories of both the faithful and the heretical through picture and sigil, in obscenely holy japery, and all manner of motherfucking decoration. Some hallways are dedicated to purpose, while others are a motherfucking free for all. Means there's a lot of difference between one corridor and the next, and navigation by landmark is impossible. They can change in between one turn of the timepiece and the next, depending on the mood of the crew and the restrictions on plastering over the existing art. You learn how to tell your way through the carnival ships by feel and implication, learning turnings and way throughs by passing over them again and again. Some stuff's pretty much always in the same place, ship to ship - the communal nutritionblock, chapel, helmsroom, bridge, shuttles. And some stuff is just wherever the fuck it fits into the hull.

You step sideways to avoid a cluster of brutaloonists, en route to something that you're probably too junior to worry about as yet and brush up, inconsequential, against one of the badly woven tapestries that cloak this corridor in particular that you've been walking along. It's still a level or more down to where your quarters are; you're a far away from the pulsing pusher of the whole ship that is the motherfucking holy of holies, the chapel itself. You don't rate, and you're fine with that. It ain't like you're in particular need of individual attention from those above you; you've gotten enough of it when they purged the sopor-rot from your weak and trembling flesh.

A hand grabs you by the shoulder and pulls you back behind the curtain of the tapestry showing the holy martyrdom of Jahhon Kikjaz, taking you by complete surprise. It ain't nothing you'd think to expect here, something that could be harmful. What subjugglator would expect that, surrounded by church? You make a move to shout maybe, feeling the uneasy surge of your surprise giving your chucklevoodoos a little tickle in the back of your pan, your eyes flying up to try and figure out who's got a hold of you. And a hand over your fucking facegash, no shitting. You're a second's hesitation away from biting, body tensing up to wiggle out of the grip on you like a maddened polecat before you really look at the person who's holding you so tight and close.

Confusion washes over you and you're pretty sure you make a really stupid sound of surprise, looking up wide-eyed at Marvus Xoloto, the daytime star of a thousand dirty personal dreamings. What - what the everloving mother _fuck?_

"Shhhh," he soothes, while you're standing there pop-eyed with your head craned back so you can see's his face looking down at you. His palm covers the entirety of your facegash, fingers touching the side of your jaw on one side and the heel of his hand t'other. Fuck, he's bigger and older than you. You try not to squirm, or at least not draw attention to the situation in your pants. They're gonna be a motherfucking write-off if he keeps you for too long, of that you are fucking certain. Nook's reacting in what you consider a humiliating consequence to all those idle nightdreams, not even considerating how you was already primed to the motherfucking edge.

Oh, this ain't good. What the fuck have you done, that the Messiahs would torment you so? You can smell Marvus' sweat he's worked up preachifying to your brethren and sistren, you're so close to his body, his other arm holding you tight across your chest. Biting back the urge to whimper in sexual frustration, you close your eyes and try to just wait. Till he enlightens you as to what the fuck is going on.

Messiahs are fucking with you, sure enough.

What is he _doing?_ Oh fuck, had he noticed you staring at him or some fucking thing like that? Is he gonna be offended? Y'ain't meant one thing by it, you just like watching him, you don't want to be making him feel any kind of uncomfortable or nothing. Maybe he doesn't do concerts anymore cos he's sick of that shit. Is he mad atchu? Oh fuck, what if he's mad about it? You're not any kind of subtle motherfucker, as you been told often and loud by your rough-edged diamond.

"Bro?" You murmur, muffled against his hand. The feelings in you make it impossible to stay still and you wiggle in his grip a little. Your pusher feel like it's about to beat out of your chest, god damn.

"Hush a moment, little brother," he sighs out and you try to keep yourself under control a little longer. You don't...think he's mad, after all. He didn't sound mad, and that's both a great relief and a great puzzlement to you.

You stand there like that in his arms a lil while longer, while you try to breathe normally and pretend like your bulge isn't trying to get into your nook within the confines of your pants. Oh Messiahs, please. You don't want him to look down and see what a state you're in. It's just too much to expect that he'd want to do anything about it besides maybe rib you a bit bout being young and eager. Can a brother be expected to be otherwise, when he be so close to a motherfucker that be so hot and sexy? You think the fuck not.

"There now, mang," he says softly and takes his hand away from your mouth. The hallway is quiet, and you can feel the aloneness of the two of you. It's a sight odd to have that feeling reverberating in your bones, you ain't been alone since you came onboard. But you guess, you still ain't really alone, not if Marvus is there. "I been wanting to get my talk on with you, bro."

"You been wanting to get your talk on with me?" you parrot back at him, as the shocks just keep on coming. You feeling like some kind sock 'em bop 'em wiggler toy at this point, the blows keep coming and you pop back up. He just keep doing these things that ain't what you'd been thinking he'd do. You didn't even know he know who you _are_. "Bro, you sure you got the right troll?"

Maybe he's not holding onto you now but you're both still close together, you just turned a lil bit so you can look him in the nug better. See his eyes. He grinning down at you like he ain't got no motherfucking worries at all, and one of his hands is still on your waist. You're all hot and cold all over, and you swear to the fucking Messiahs that you bout to have a god damn pusher attack right here behind this tapestry in this little carved out space of hull. Ship silent around you for a moment, for once, and you feel like you're gonna die here, never to be found again no matter what.

"Mang, you gonna try and tell a motherfucker that you _ain't_ that young brother that been giving me eyes from every sermon I've given since you stepped walking-prod on the ship?" he says, teasing, but you flush hot and cold all over. He noticed that? He noticed you? Oh fuck, who the fuck else has noticed that you're god damn gone like some kinda clueless chucklefuck? "Sure I noticed you."

His voice is warm and soft, and the chill down your vertical columnar husk-support bones is god damn electrifying. You squeak, feeling the tip of your bulge finally make it into your nook, and you feel like you're gonna faint or something. Blood's rushing every which way, but it sure ain't to your poor thinkpan.

"I didn't - Bro -" you say, and you don't even know what you're protesting about. He chuckles, low and deep, you can feel it reverberating through his chest as he leans over you. The tip of his tongue flicks over his lower lip, and a part of you dies on the spot. Just up and expires from the sheer force of how hot he is. "I ain't mean nothin' by it, brother, I _swear_."

"I'm gonna be hella disappointed if you meant absofuckinglutely nothing by it, little brother," he purrs, leaning over you. Your breath catches in your chirpbox, along with a whine, as he lifts one hand. Rubs his thumb 'cross your lower lip, before tipping your chin closed with the tips of his frondstubs. Oh, _Messiahs_ save you. "What's your name, bro? I got a liking for knowing the names of kin when I'm getting to know them better."

"Gamzee," you manage to gasp out without a stutter or hesitation. You can't look away from his sightnuggets, he's got you motherfucking well entranced. You don't want to look away though. You don't want to be anywhere but where you are right now. "Gamzee Makara."

"Gamzee," he repeats like this he's trying it out on his flavourslab, and he seems to like the taste of it. Oh motherfuck. He's so hot, and you don't think he really means to be. Just how he is. It's so fucking unfair; standing next to him, you can feel all your inadequacies most fucking keenly. Why is he even still talking to someone like you? "Gamzee, little brother...you want to come back to my quarters and get some funky beats going, see how we end up?"

" _Yes,_ " you blurt out immediately, in case he takes it back because you show any sign of hesitation. He asked, you said yes, he better not go back on it. "Yeah - bro - like...like right now?"

He grins, and both his eyes and fangs gleam.

"S'what a motherfucker had in mind."

He pulls back the curtain of the tapestry and looks out, checking for other clowns. You don't blame him, you guess. You're not sure you'd want to answer questions about what the fuck you're doing with Marvus fucking Xoloto, and you're pretty sure he probably don't want to answer questions about what he's doing holed up with a junior boogeyman. Why the fuck would he he want to answer questions and entertain some nosy fucker's pokery in his business? Especially regarding what the fuck he's doing with you.

You don't like to think on it too much. Gives you a sour feeling in your hungersack, and all you want to think about is how you're pretty sure you're gonna get what you've been wanting for a heehawbeast's age. He looks out, then looks back. Looks down. His smile widens and you reflexively try to hide your wiggly, pulling the hem of your shirt down over your traitorous crotch and the incipient movement in your polka-dotted pants.

"What, bro," you snap at him while you're standing there like you can feel the L on your forehead from the weight of his amused glance, and feel your cheeks flush up with embarrassed heat. He drops the tapestry back into place, and then he _looms_ over you, one hand on the wall above your head next to one of your horns, and his front bumping up against you. You'd swear you can feel his breath on you, and the feeling in your pants gets even more fucking acute, your breath totally snatched away.

Your unexpected whine cuts the stillness and he leans down.

When he kisses you, it feels like the ship stops spinning. Autograv means nothing against the sudden lurch of your cardiopusher and all your internal motherfucking parts as he kisses you. Soft mouth, the smell of paint and the slow seeking pressure of his tongue into your maw.

Reaching up blindly, you grab onto his vest which has been catching your ocular ever since you laid gaze on him at the beginning of his sermon. That seems so fucking long ago now.

One of his hands cups and squeezes the front of your pants and you crumple against him like a piece of wet paper. You're all motherfucking soggy, sure enough. Gasping into his mouth and needy chirps rising unbidden in your squawkblister. Oh motherfucker, that feels so fucking good. You can't even believe this is fucking happening, but the firm pressure of his grasping frond against the curve of your bulge that ain't tucked itself into your nook is hard to deny.

" _Please_ ," you groan, not knowing what he'll do. Whatever he does, it's all that you want. As long as he fucking does something!

"Think there's a problem here needs solving, before we go, brother," he murmurs and you're muffled by his mouth again as he pushes his hand inside your pants now to grasp your bulge. Somehow, even up until now you'd though he'd maybe been pulling a jape, some kinda prank. But there's not much possible trickery here to solve as his broader, longer fingers wrap around your bulge to grasp and stroke.

Sure, you're more than happy for him to solve this problem. Your knees are buckling underneath you and the only thing keeping you on your frondstubs is the grip you've got on his embroidered vest, the feel of gold cord rough against your palm. He moves on from kissing you to drag the lobe of your auricularclot between his fangs, and you bury your face against his shoulder as your hips buck helplessly into his grip. You want something so much more than your own bulge in your own fucking nook. Every time you inhale, you're hit with the scent of _church_ , sugar and incense, sweat and greasepaint. Things now that make you feel safe in ways you'd never known.

They'd never really been sexy as fuck before, but they sure fucking are now. The heel of his palm rubs up against the curve of your bulge and then a finger presses against the entrance to your nook, along with where your bulge is already making itself at hive pretty comfortably. A whine trickles out of your throat as he presses his finger inside you along with your bulge, and you're aware that things are more breezy down there than they were before, pants puddled at your ankles. How'd that happen, is all you wonder fuzzily to yourself but you got more important things to concentrate on here.

One, two fingers pushing their way into your nook and curling up with your bulge, making you feel the _stretch_ of being filled and you let out a sobbing moan. It's so fucking good, and you ain't even gotten to see his bulge yet. You're in some way aware of the fact that the only thing stopping anybody on the fucking ship from seeing you like this, fucking yourself and with Marvus' fingers pressing into your nook is a thin flap of cotton but you can't stop yourself from making noise. Marvus presses you back up against the wall when you slump against him and presses his other hand against your mouth as you chirr helplessly.

And you pail like that, maw stoppered up with the broad pressure of his hand and your nook overfilled and overflowing as he fucks you with his frondstubs pressed in against your bulge. Purple drips stickily down your thighs and you gasp quietly, before he helps you stand up more straight-like. He kisses you again as he pulls his fingers out slowly, and it's softer this time, you're not feeling so damn desperate for anything he can give you and you can actually just enjoy being kissed.

"You're a mess, little brother, Gamzee," he croons softly, pulling back a little to look you over. You just look up at him, and can't help your grin because you're pretty sure you know how you look and you don't think he minds so fucking much as the words might say. That tone of voice means something else. He thinks it's hella that you're all of a mess with your own slurry, because of him, all because of him. Your bulge is slowly untucking itself from the confines of your nook, and he ruffles your hair with his hand and you scoff and flail at him a little because you're pretty sure he just got slurry in your panfronds.

"Gross, bro, c'mon," you sniff like you're fake-offended by his actions and you're rewarded with a low, rolling laugh that warms you all the way through to your bones. On the inside, you're a wiggling, cavorting goat-kicking wiggler of happiness, just motherfucking pleased with everything, yourself and him especially. You grin sly to yourself, and reach down to pull up your pants; they're stained, but thankfully they're already mostly black. The fug of pailing pheromones is heavy enough though that you're pretty sure anybody'll be able to twig to what you been doing. But now you feel so motherfucking relaxed, you don't mind so much about getting caught. "So...what next? Just guessin' that you got maybe a bit more know how on how to get to your motherfucking quarters without getting caught."

"If you can be quiet enough, then it won't be a problem, mang," he says cheerfully, and winks at you slow and lewd. Oh god damn, you only just spilled but here's this sexy motherfucker trying to make you do it again. You can't fucking wait to get back to his quarters and see what else the fuck he has to show you. Some sick rhymes, huh - and his motherfucking bulge, or at least he the fuck better have that in mind. Considering what y'all just did, you're pretty certain that is on the cards and you couldn't have seen this coming earlier tonight. Maybe in your wildest dreams but you sure hasn't thought they'd come true. "Let's go, huh? You know how to use your 'voodoos proper, I could feel that before when I gave you a motherfucking startlement. So just keep things clear for us, and I'll keep an ocular peeled. I ain't feeling like inviting anyone else to the party this time, bro." He smirks down at you, revealing his overlong canines and it's god damn beautiful. "Looking forward to getting to know you better, lol."

Did he just fucking say lol out loud? He fucking did, motherfuck. 

"I'm the quietest motherfucker when I wanna be, bro," you promise in defence of yourself, brain still scrambling a little. Flushing at the compliment to your chucklevoodoos and not wanting to let him have a chance to be disappointed in you about them. Oh fuck. You hope you really can do this proper. Fucking up in front of him is the last thing you want to do right now, just in case it afflicts him with any motherfucking kind of second thoughts. "Ok, I'll just...do an unease on us, yeah?"

"That's the plan, lil Gamzee-man, show me what what you got besides one of the tightest nooks I've ever felt on my fondle-digits, yeah?" You can feel yourself going purple to the earfin, but you swallow back all those feelings so you can concentrate on getting the job done. Maybe not this way, you suggest with your chucklevoodoos, letting the power gleam out of you. Something bad down here. Something gonna bite you, eat you, devour you from horn to frond-stub here. "MmhmmMMM, that's the shit," he says with satisfaction as you feel the corridors warp psychically in the grip of your mind, and he takes your hand. Pulls you along as you concentrate on keeping up your miasma of uncomfy feelings. "Let's go before someone comes for real."

The fact that you actually don't run into any motherfucker, no sister or brother or non-binary other is a motherfucking surprise to you. Usually there be all kinds of people wandering hither and yon. Maybe your 'voodoos are really working that good? No matter what, you don't want to press at it too much so you leave it with a sense of relief and a mental promise to offer something nice to the Sister later, for the help She no doubt offered in hiding your sorry ass. Brother Raging be generally interested in more direct sorts of actions, and not so fucking interested at all in quadrantal activities. Not that you're expecting such, hell no. This is just a good time pail, and you know it, and you're more than motherfucking fine with that. Not every fucking thing in your life has to be god damn serious; sometimes you're allowed just to have a good time.

Slipping into the rooms with his sign on the door feels like the two of you have gotten away with something bigger than what it fucking is, and you let your chucklevoodoos dissipate as the two of you dissolve into laughter, and then into each other. Leaning body to body soon becomes a push, a scramble backwards to where he pushes you down onto the firm surface of a pailing platform. You don't rate a room with one of your own yet, but the night'll come sometime or another. Just have to make do with the rentapailblock nonsense, or do like you be doing right now - get jiggy with someone who has enough personal space in their blocks that they got their motherfucking own platform. Damn, it's nice and big too, feels like it almost takes up the whole room. Motherfucking comfortable.

"You gonna take this off or what, Xoloto," you fuss, and rub your thumbclaw against one of the glittering gold buttons of his vest. Sure does like his ornamentations, but then again you reckon they fucking suit him. Ostentatious. Not many trolls could get away with it, either in looks or social cachet but he manages. He looks good in his clothes, but you wanna see what he looks like when he takes them off.

"Impatient lil shit," he sighs, but he doesn't fight you as you unbutton his vest so you can greedily rub your graspers across the planes of his muscular chest. So fucking forgive you, Messiahs both, but you sure do motherfucking love a nice set of rumblespheres. Either hefty and fulsome with rounded curves, like some trolls of your acquaintance or nice and firm squares like this. The two of you fall back to kissing again as your thumb rubs against one of his grubscars, and you lift your legs so he can pull your dirty fucking pants all the way the fuck off and throw them somewhere else in the block. Y'ain't all the way recovered yet, but your bulge is starting to peak out of its sheath already, which Marvus finds out when he gropes between your legs and you whine, arching up into his touch. He chuckles, and you don't care if he thinks it's funny, just so long as he don't fucking _stop_. "Y'ready to get w-w- _wrecked_ , baby?"

"Sure as fuck, motherfucker, _give_ it to me," you demand breathless, and he finally gets his motherfucking pants off. Oh god damn, that's one hell of a fine bulge. You don't even bother to say anything after that, just spread your walkfronds like a pailstar because fuck if you don't want that shit up your nook right the fuck now. Ain't never felt the need to pretend like you didn't want what the fuck you wanted, that's a truth. It's coiled and curved and big, wrapping round itself as Marvus looms up over you in a different way to what he'd been doing before and you fling a frond around his neck and pull him down. Pull him in.

"Oh, _fuuuuuuck_ , bro," he groans out against your facegash, and you chirp, crooning as his bulge presses in deeper to the embrace of your nook. You're already wet and sloppy with geneslurry from spilling before, so all that thickness slides on in easy as cherry fucking pie. Fills you right up too, mother _fucker_ , he feels so good inside you. Pressing up against your insides with all his ridges and the thick feel of his bulge moving inside in slow writhing motions. "You so good, Gamzee, so good, good fuckin'...you ready for this? Gonna give you the _good_ shizz."

"Sure, give it t'me," you gasp, not even sure what you're agreeing to and apparently it's to get pounded within an inch of your life back into his platform. You're stronger and broader than you'd been when you'd arrived, sweeps since Ascension have been kinder than they oughtta have been but Marvus is - he's - shit, he's fucking stacked, and he's bigger older better than any motherfucker you've pailed before. You scream as he pails you, but in that good way, and sink your fangs into the muscle of his shoulder as you twine around him like an aching vine around a knotted tree. Nook tight around his bulge, you can feel your own bulge pressed against the flat muscle of his stomach, the looming immensity of him and his whole god damn body giving you shivers all the way to your skeletal-struts.

Shit. You don't think you're a slouch on the platform, no kind of cuddlenub empress you, but fuck. _Fuck_. You don't think it's something like it's been forever since he got to pail with somebody, not Marvus Xoloto, no motherfucking way. You just can't see that; even if they ain't realizing of what a motherfucking _celestial body_ in slampoetry he's been and always will be, they'd be up to considerating just how much of a motherfucking _body_ he got. Speaking of, you get your graspers on his ass and haul, hearing him rumble out something close to a growl as the two of you seem to strain to become the one skin, the one being.

You're gonna motherfucking spill again already, even if you'd cum barely ten minutes ago. Had it really been that fucking long? You're ready to spill now, but you don't wanna until he does, in case it makes you feel too sensitive to keep taking a plowing like this. Your fronds are shaking but you manage to rub at one of his curving grubscars with a thumb, reaching up with your other hand to grab onto the base of one of his horns, pressing your thumb to the hornbed there. From the crooning chirr he makes at you when you do, you think he approves.

Or else he approves of how you know your nook is sucking at his bulge, flexing around that chill purple flesh greedily to try and get everything from him that you can. Motherfucker, this was not how you'd seen your night going. Thought you'd just hit chapel then go to sleep, to wake up for another fucking blessed night of clowning and culling practice. Nah, here you are being pinned to a platform by one hell of an old school rapninja and he's good at it, besides. When you cum, it's like everything in you becomes a ball all tightened up before it releases, and you hear him cry out loudly as he pushes in deep one more time and all your intimate parts get fucking flooded with slurry. Man like that has a lot to give, sure efuckingnough, fuck, you're so full you feel almost bloated with it. Gonna be expressing that shit for nights, you think foggily, but mostly you just enjoy the aftermath.

Panting and covered in slurry, you inhale shakily and stare up at the ceiling through blurry eyes. Motherfucker, you just got your god damn planetoid rocked. Wrecked? You sure fucking think you are. Your nook is tingling pleasantly and you're all kinds of motherfucking mess. Covered in his and yours slurry, you're gonna need a shower before you think about leaving. Damn, not that you want to.

Marvus throws an arm over your torso and nuzzles at your neck in what you would call an affectionate way. Then he shifts, rummaging for something to the side and you snort as he comes back to slide an arm behind your skull, and lifts his other arm up with his huskphone in it.

"Say heretic, motherfucker," he rumbles out, and you lift one hand with all your fingers closed 'cepting two, which are spread out in a V sign for god damn victory. Because fuck if you don't feel pretty damn victorious right now. "Mmm..." He throws it to the side and then cuddles in closer against you. "Don't have to leave yet, right, motherfucker?"

"Nah," you sigh out and get closer to him yourself, feeling pleased that you're not being booted out on your skinny ass now he's got what he's wanted. Makes you feel all kinds of warm inside, almost to the point where you'd purr.

"Bitchtits," he says sleepily, and you don't mind that you're pinned down by most of his bulk. A little nap sounds good to you too, and then...you don't know what's gonna happen next, but you guess you'll fucking roll with it. Whatever comes your way. So far, that's working out pretty fucking fine for you.

syntaxicalDreamer [SD] started trolling haTcheTMama [HM]

SD: sup cottoncandy sugarpie ;o)  
SD: my delish salty liquorice pitchqueen  
HM: now whaT The fuck could you possibly wanT  
HM: you being The Tiresome and Tediously convoluTed moTherfucker ThaT you are, xoloTo, iT's someThing sTupid for sure.  
SD: we been knew ur luv 4 me bb girl  
HM: you disgusT me  
SD: neway feast ur oculars on this shiznasty  
SD: lmao

syntaxicalDreamer [SD] has sent a photo!

HM: i don'T care abouT your pailing conquesTs in any fucking way aT all, can a biTch be clear with a broTher  
HM: buT  
HM: do you know who ThaT is?  
SD: sure mama itz a fugging fantastic lil bro lol  
SD: a wicked hellriotous slut bungggg  
SD: pretty sure he knows all bout my exxxploits from the home dirt too  
SD: real new no 1 fan brah  
HM: ha ha ha  
HM: oh This is funny as fuck so imma forgive you messaging me This laTe  
HM: i can'T waiT unTil you figure ouT whose buckeTspawning you've pailed  
HM: iT's going To be some funny shiT if he doesn'T cull you firsT  
HM: don'T get culled unTil afTer drone season ok?  
HM: or aT leasT get culled far enough ouT that a biTch can find a new kismesis  
SD: wtf u mean whose motherfucking bucketspawn do i think he iz  
HM: lolllll bro  
HM: :o)  
SD: maenad imma fixxin to wreck u 4 dis l8r luvver  
HM: :o)  
HM: suck my bulge, xoloTo  
HM: if you survive i'm gonna look forward To making you eaT it and your fucking pride  
HM: ha ha ha

haTcheTMama [HM] has disconnected from the chat!

haTcheTMama [HM] has put syntaxicalDreamer [SD] on block!

SD: swr i'm gonna turn your nook inside fuckin out nxt time bitch  
SD: fuck u mean by that shizzzzzz u layin on me  
SD: know it all fucking brainbug  
SD: fuk u  
SD: :o(  
SD: ruined a brother's fuckin buzz thass rude as shit :oP

syntaxicalDreamer [SD] has logged off!


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